


A King Under Your Control

by Thelonelycoast



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Age Difference, CBT, Daddy Kink, Desert Island, Desert Island Fic, Edgeplay, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Overstimulation, Rimming, Smut, Sugar Baby Louis, Sugar Daddy Zayn, i guess but like mild?, i'm always a slut for zouis, no hands cumming, zouis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 23:34:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4541733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thelonelycoast/pseuds/Thelonelycoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn is a famous R&B singer and Louis is an air host on Zayn's private jet. A storm comes and they crash on a deserted island...</p><p>Also, they hate each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A King Under Your Control

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zouee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zouee/gifts).



> Sorry I am late. I am always late.
> 
> Title is from Years & Years "King". Thanks a million to my beta [musiclily](http://musiclily.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.
> 
> As always, I'm [everythingwaslarry](http://everythingwaslarry.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Come say hi! :)
> 
> Comments and love are appreciated and I will do my best to reply! x

**A King Under Your Control**

They were all the same. Whether it was new money or old money, whether they got it from leaked sex tapes or multi-platinum albums or daddy’s trust fund, they all looked down their noses at Louis. They snapped diamond-encrusted fingers at him, leering from behind mirrored sunglasses, smiling with mouths full of white veneers or gold grills, sipping top-tier champagne that cost more than his flat.

The bad ones treated him like he was expendable, like he existed for no other reason than to serve them. They requested caviar and hot lemon water during the worst patches of turbulence. He gritted his teeth into an approximation of a smile and struggled to keep his balance and not spill anything. _God forbid he spilled anything. Or spoke out of turn. Or looked anything but thrilled to be in their presence._

The bad ones waited until they saw him sit down to rest his aching feet to stab the call button with a manicured talon, suddenly in desperate need of a hot hand towel or a drink refresher.

The worse ones pinched his bottom while they were at it, balanced him on their lap like one of their little designer dogs, brazenly stroking his inner thigh to the sniggering delight of their entourage. The very worst ones expected Louis to initiate them into the mile high club, something that was _definitely_ not in the job description.

It was like this: Louis was _pretty_. His big blue eyes were framed by the sort of long, sweeping eyelashes woman paid money to achieve, his nose was small and dainty, you could grate parmesan on his cheekbones and he was curvy in ways you didn’t expect from a man. He had a tiny waist and an arse to rival Kim K’s and golden thighs you’d do anything to have wrapped around your neck for an evening. Louis knew that. And it wasn’t that he was arrogant or self-centered or a massive dick about it – it was just an indisputable fact – Louis knew he was good looking like he knew the sky was blue – because people had been telling him so his entire life.

He was all too aware of how he looked and of how people looked at him. Ever since he was a little boy, he’d catch strangers sneaking glances at him on the tube or when he was out at a restaurant with his mummy and daddy. _How well behaved. How handsome. That face!_ They’d remark, as if he weren’t sitting right there.

Once, a stranger had grabbed his hand in the supermarket when his mummy turned away to ask the clerk a question. When he’d cried out, his mum had whipped back around before the man could make off with him, but not before he slashed Louis’ wrist good and deep with a knife. He was five years old.

He still had the scar. He didn’t remember much of that day, except for the blood and his mummy crying and screaming for help, which was probably a blessing. But he remembered it being the first time he hated how he looked, hated that he was different enough to draw attention.

Louis had the sort of beauty that made some people inexplicably angry with him – homophobic, closeted men and aging beauty queens, the laddy twats at his college – who acted as if his looks were some sort of personal affront to them. As if he were the responsible for all the problems in their lives, all their hardships. As if he’d had a choice in the matter.

Louis’ looks were likely the reason he’d gotten the job in the first place, well that and his recommendation from Niall. They’d been looking for a female air hostess, but when he’d strode into the office in grey tailored slacks that clung to his bum and an immaculately pressed shirt and skinny tie, every eye in the place, regardless of gender or sexual preference, had turned to stare.

Louis had the sort of looks that made people want to cross boundaries; that made straight men want to get to their knees for him and incited straight-laced housewives to explore their most repressed kinks. Pair that with an air host job catering to the biggest egos in the business and it was basically a recipe for disaster. It didn’t seem to matter if their celebrity clientele were men or women, young or old. To them, Louis was just a little bauble, a flashy charm to add to their ever-growing collections.

The thing was, Louis wasn’t always very compliant. He had a filthy mouth and the quick temper of a true Northerner. For the sake of keeping his job, he’d learned to nod his head and serve food and drinks and submit to the occasional odd request. But he _wasn’t_ a prostitute and he _wasn’t_ a pet and when he was treated as such, he didn’t care _who_ they were or what their stock portfolio looked like. He was more than happy to tell them where to stick it. It had nearly gotten him fired on several occasions, but most of them sort of admired him for it – for being the one person in their lives that would stand up to them.

Louis had been dreading today’s flight ever since he learned that it was Naughty Boy and his entourage, but he’d pressed his uniform like he did every morning, fixed his hair into a quiff and added a daub of cologne to his throat and wrists. It was amazing how much dressing your best could soften the blow of a potentially horrible day. Louis was whistling by the time he left his flat for the airfield, perfectly made cup of tea in hand.

He briefly commiserated about the upcoming trip with Liam, the pilot, and Niall, the copilot, as he prepared the cabin to their clients’ specifications. The air was set to a sterile 19 degrees Celsius and there were three bottles of Château d’Esclans rosé chilling in the galley. The music (set to 63 decibels) was a Sam Smith album Naughty Boy had produced, because he was that up his own arse. It was actually quite good, though Louis would never admit as much to the man’s face.

Louis positively loathed Naughty Boy. For one thing, he had no business calling himself “boy” at thirty summat years old. And he was less “naughty” than he was haughty and smugly insufferable. Plus, he’d nearly gotten Louis fired after Louis had turned down his advances.

But Louis put on a bright face when they entered, determined to make the best of it. It was the usual entourage with Naughty Boy today – his tall, simpering model girlfriend, Nadira, a fellow DJ named JJ Swag, his cousin Amir, his personal assistant, Houston, and his hairstylist, Kieron Webb. Out of the lot of them, Louis tolerated Webb. Or at least admired what the man could do with hair. He’d offered to cut Louis’ for free once and Louis had never felt as pampered and fresh as he did when he stepped out of that styling chair. The man gave a scalp massage that could rival Louis getting his ass eaten for how much his toes curled in his socks.

“Thank you for flying with us today, Shahid. You’re looking well,” Louis smiled warmly (helped along by the acid currently pumping through his blood).

Shahid made an offended noise, shucking his baby blue suit coat, which he dumped in Louis’ arms, along with his leather attaché case. “This heat is insufferable.”

“Shall I raise the air, sir?”

“What do you think? And why isn’t there a drink in my hand?” he asked petulantly, throwing himself with a huff into a seat by the window. Nadira was instantly at his side, stroking his arm and saying something in an overloud voice about _incompetent help_ that Louis pretended not to hear, even as his face burned twelve shades of angry, embarrassed red.

“Coming right up.” Louis turned on his heel to head back to the galley and ran smack into a sixth member of the party who had just entered the plane.

“Fuck. Sorry. Shit,” Louis yelped in surprise. His eyes grew wide when the slim figure lowered his shades and Louis could see the hooded eyes and obscenely long lashes for the first time. His legs went numb and a lump lodged in his throat, curbing his normally sharp tongue. It was Zayn Malik, the ridiculously famous R&B singer, who had once almost single-handedly crushed Louis’ own dreams of stardom and who for as long as Louis could remember, had held a rather prominent role in his wet dreams.

“Watch it,” Zayn mumbled in a low, nearly indecipherable West Yorkshire accent.

“Sorry, I…” Louis gulped breathlessly, burning with shame as he tried to avoid golden Zayn’s eyes. The odds of Zayn recognizing him after all this time, having met so many people in his life, were slim to none, but just being in his presence again left Louis with a twisted-up gut.

“I’ll just –” he floundered, finally stepping aside so he wasn’t blocking the aisle. “Why don’t you take your seat and I’ll –” Louis made a brief flailing motion meant to convey _fetch you a drink_ and then disappeared as quickly as he could into the galley without breaking into an undignified run. Once he’d shuffled the curtained divider into place, he opened the freezer and stuck his head inside, willing the redness in his cheeks to go away.

“Shit. Bugger. Fuck. Cunt,” he cussed into an unsympathetic tray of ice-cubes. Louis startled when a heavy hand settled on his shoulder and he heard Niall’s familiar chuckle behind him.

“Aw’right mate?”

“You didn’t tell me Zayn Malik was on this flight,” Louis hiss-whispered, slamming the freezer door shut and sneaking the curtain open to get a better view of the cabin. Zayn was in his direct line of sight, looking infuriatingly put together in his floral snapback and black leather jacket and distressed designer jeans. Louis wasn’t sure whether he wanted to punch him in his smug face or fuck him into his chair until he cried for mercy.

“Didn’t know you cared,” Niall smirked suggestively.

“I don’t… _care_ ,” Louis snapped, snatching a bottle of Bombay Sapphire from the well-stocked fridge with a bit too much force. Niall gave him a skeptical look, reaching around Louis to grab two cans of Coke Zero for himself and Liam, before disappearing into the cockpit. _Shit._ _How was Louis going to survive seven hours in a confined space with Zayn without losing his job?_

 

* * *

 

Louis was contemplating throwing himself out the emergency exit with no parachute when he heard Shahid grumble passive-aggressively about the whereabouts of their drinks. He took a deep breath and finished arranging everything onto the cart with only nominally shaking hands and rolled out to meet them with a smile, ever the consummate professional. He could have won an Academy Award for his performance, honestly. He managed to pour all their drinks without spilling anything and took their requests for food, pen only shaking slightly as he jotted the words down.

“Take special care of my boy, Zayn, all right?” Shahid tacked on to the end of the order, tucking a hundred pound note into Louis’ breast coat pocket, hand lingering a bit too long to be considered friendly. “He’s a nervous flyer.”

_Oh, Louis would take care of him all right – with both hands wrapped tightly around his skinny neck – as he fucked – goddamit, Louis…keep it together._

Zayn was sitting apart from the others, frantically digging for something in his bag. “Everything all right, Mr. Malik?” Louis asked anxiously. There was an eleven-year-age gap between them, which had seemed insurmountable when Louis was a naïve sixteen-year-old virgin from a tiny village and Zayn was a twenty-seven year old superstar, but now that Louis was twenty-one and Zayn was in his thirties, was starting to look entirely doable. _Doable. Shit. Louis needed to get his mind out of the gutter before his slacks started to tent._

“Zayn is fine,” Zayn replied automatically and then stopped his rustling to look at Louis. Zayn studied him for several seconds longer than was entirely comfortable and Louis shifted his weight under the boy’s watchful gaze.

Zayn was even more striking than Louis remembered – with russet skin and unnerving gold eyes and near-deadly cheekbones. He had a shaved undercut that was back in style now (thanks to him) and a dark wing of shining hair cascaded over his forehead. There was the tiniest hint of sparkle from his diamond nose stud and two silver hoops in each earlobe that had Louis salivating at the thought of running his tongue over.

“You’re very beautiful,” Zayn remarked finally. Even though he heard it all the time, Louis stomach swooped in a way it hadn’t in a long time.

“You…you too,” he stammered.

“Thanks.” Zayn nodded, like he was agreeing. _No false modesty with that one, then._ Zayn continued to stare at Louis intensely. Louis felt embarrassed and hot and strangely aroused, like a layer of white-hot magma was bubbling up right below the surface of his skin. He would have paid any amount of money to be able to escape long enough for a wank in the loo. He didn’t suspect it would take much longer than a minute.

Louis squirmed under Zayn’s gaze, struggling to maintain professionalism (and flaccidity). “Is there…can I get you anything?”

Zayn stroked his chin between two fingers like he was a villain plotting the world’s demise. “I know you from somewhere, don’t I?”

Louis shrugged, trying not to internally combust. “I’m sure you meet a lot of people in your line of work.”

Zayn raised an eyebrow at Louis’ evasive answer, probably having been coached on that very thing by a PR handler somewhere down the line. “Are you a fan?”

“Isn’t everyone?” Louis settled on finally, choosing his words carefully.

Zayn’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he gave a curt nod. “I’ll have a vodka soda. And a pair of headphones if you’ve got ‘em. I seem to have forgotten mine.”

“Coming right up,” Louis nodded, eager to escape the conversation and the scrutiny. He hadn’t gotten two steps when he felt Zayn’s hand on his wrist.

“Oh hey, kitten.” Louis froze, his heart beating overtime. It was the most they’d ever touched, beyond the brisk handshake they’d shared when they initially met. Louis turned back slowly. _Kitten kitten kitten_ somersaulted through his mind, turning his thighs to jelly and effectively ending his battle to not get hard. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Oh, uh…it’s Louis,” he stammered.

Zayn nodded once, smiling benevolently before relinquishing his hold on Louis’ wrist. “Thanks Louis.”

Louis all but sprinted to the galley, yanking the curtain closed behind him hard enough to rattle the rings that held it in place. For the second time, he opened the freezer and shoved his head back in to cool the burning in his cheeks. For good measure, he slipped a chip of ice into his pants, hissing when it made contact. “Get it together, Tomlinson.”

 

* * *

 

Naughty Boy kept Louis busy as usual, snapping his fingers seemingly every time Louis’ arse hit a seat cushion. Despite the air-conditioning, Louis was quickly sweating and his feet were throbbing from being on them so long. He consoled himself with the promise of a long, hot bubble bath once they landed in Dubai, but frankly that time couldn’t come soon enough.

And the way Zayn kept looking at him – it was only a matter of time before he made the connection. Part of Louis hoped he never did and part of him was stung that he meant so little to the other man, that what had been a life-changing moment for him had been entirely inconsequential to Zayn.

Zayn was getting progressively drunker as Louis kept delivering a steady stream of drinks to the cabin and progressively friskier, yanking Louis down into his lap a few times when Louis didn’t move out of the way quick enough. It didn’t seem like something meant to embarrass him or demean him or even something Zayn did to impress his mates like a lot of the others. It seemed like he just enjoyed touching him – enjoyed eliciting the annoyed, breathy little sounds that came out of Louis unwillingly.

“I’ve figured it out,” Zayn said, somewhere between his fifth and sixth drink, when his hand was giving Louis’ bottom a bold grope and Louis had given up on not having an erection. Now, he was concentrating on not cumming his pants.

“What have you figured out then, oh enlightened one? Global warming crisis? Food shortages in developing countries?”

Zayn smirked lazily. He didn’t laugh at Louis’ jokes, which was infuriating, just gawked at Louis like he was a tiny parakeet, something bright and animated and there for his amusement. “Where I know you from. You were on X-Factor the season I was a guest judge.”

“Took you long enough,” Louis huffed, though his insides were churning. At least the gnawing in his stomach kept him from prematurely busting a nut on a customer’s lap. There were only so many ways he could be humiliated in one day. _Or so he thought._

“Christ the papers slammed you! You made it to the final three and just dropped out out of nowhere. Louis Twatlinson was a particularly inspired headline,” Zayn chuckled to himself. “I think I might have saved the clipping for that one.”

Louis stiffened. “Well, as nice as it is to reminisce about your scrapbooking hobby, I actually have to work.”

“Why did you leave anyway? You were so close to having your shot and you just dropped off the face of the Earth — You really could have been something –”

“Oh, like you cared so much. You tore me apart at judging,” Louis all but spat. It had been five years, but Louis could remember being a trembling sixteen-year-old from a small village, sweating under the stage’s glaring spotlights, like it was yesterday.

He remembered putting on a brave face as Zayn took apart his performance, his looks, his voice, piece by piece – and then the debilitating panic attacks he’d have in the loo after. The late night, sobbing Skype calls to his stepdad. The way he’d get so sick with nerves before going on stage that he made himself throw up. He had no idea how he’d managed to make it to the finals at all, though he suspected it had something to do with Simon, who’d been his mentor and in his corner the entire time.

The only good thing that had come out of the experience was Louis’ friendship with Niall. Niall had been one of the tech guys on the show – and his chill demeanor and their late night chats and the beers he snuck Louis – were the only things that kept Louis from falling apart completely. _Niall laughed at Louis’ jokes,_ Louis thought bitterly.

Zayn smiled, clearly amused by Louis’ struck nerve. “Well, well. Kitty’s got claws after all. It’s only balls he’s missing.”

Louis sprung from Zayn’s lap and stomped off into the galley, heat licking up the back of his neck and setting his ears aflame. _Who did Zayn think he was? He had no right – no fucking right at all. He didn’t know Louis. He didn’t know his life. He didn’t know shit._

Louis ignored Zayn the rest of the flight, which wasn’t too hard with the increasing demands from the rest of his camp. They ran into some bad turbulence over the Persian Gulf on the last stretch of the flight and Louis was fighting tears every time he stepped out into the cabin. He never let anyone affect him like this – prided himself on being cool and collected at work – but just like five years ago, he’d let Zayn crawl under his skin and fester – like a spot waiting to erupt.

Louis’ only consolation was that Zayn looked as miserable as he did. He was deathly pale, had his headphones stuffed over his ears and his knuckles were white from gripping the chair arms so tightly. Every time the plane shook, he jerked in his seat like a puppet with its strings cut. Of course, despite Liam’s warnings over the intercom, Naughty Boy kept up his increasing list of demands. For the third time that day, Louis stumbled down the walkway as the sky shook, rumbling the plane like a tin can in a washing machine.

Zayn caught him when he fell this time, loping an arm effortlessly around his waist. “Maybe you better take a seat, kitten. Looks like we’re in for some rough skies.”

“Maybe you should mind your own business,” Louis snapped.

“Hm…perhaps you’ve got bollocks after all,” Zayn smirked, reaching around to give Louis’ package a calculating squeeze through the front of his pressed slacks. Louis slapped Zayn’s hand away as hard as he could, running on pure adrenaline.

“Fuck you. You don’t get to touch me. Don’t you fucking dare.”

Zayn’s smile faded from his face. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I didn’t mean—”

Louis turned to make a dramatic exit, but the plane took a tremendous nosedive at the very same moment, sending him toppling face-first to the floor. But not before his head clipped the metal arm of a chair and everything went blissfully black.

 

* * *

 

The rain had stopped, but the sand was wet and miserable and if Zayn had to hear Shahid threaten to sue the pilot and the private airline one more time it was going to severely endanger his working relationship with the man.

Shahid had first discovered Zayn when he was a gangly twenty-year-old in Uni, DJing some of his mixes in a dinghy club in Manchester. At the time, he’d been broke and hungry and Shahid had showed up like the fairy godmother in Cinderella, with the promise of carriages and slippers and fortune and princesses and Zayn was just a starry-eyed idiot with cinder for brains.

Over time, their relationship had quickly proved toxic. Naughty Boy used his influence and weight in the industry to bully and manipulate Zayn into making business decisions he didn’t stand behind and then, when Zayn was a bigger name than he was, used him for his fame. Name-dropped him in the papers and at industry parties. If you read any of the gossip rags, you’d get the impression that they were best mates. But these days, Zayn only worked with him when the label demanded it and limited the time they spent together outside the studio. He hadn’t even planned on taking the same flight, but then Shahid had bullied him into that too.

They’d made an emergency water landing on choppy, storm-churned waters, made all the more terrifying because Zayn couldn’t swim, Louis was unconscious and a pair of DJs, a personal assistant and a hair stylist were the least helpful people to have around in a real life emergency. Liam and Niall seemed to be the only competent ones on board. They’d managed to get everyone into the emergency life raft, including some provisions, before the broken plane sank haplessly below the slate-colored waves.

Liam, the pilot, had given everyone a job to do before sundown and Zayn’s job was keeping Louis alive.

He sat cross-legged on the beach with Louis’ head pillowed in his lap, swabbing the boy’s chest with a sea-water soaked t-shirt. Cleaning Louis up was the only thing keeping him from descending into a state of total panic. As long as Zayn had a purpose, he could ignore the fact that he was now stranded on a desert island – with a boy that very much hated his guts (and with good reason).

When Zayn’s hand accidently grazed one of Louis’ nipples, the boy released a breathy moan that shot straight to Zayn’s cock. A moment later, Louis’ bright blue eyes were fluttering open, straining to bring Zayn’s face into focus.

“Hello sunshine.” Louis lifted his head from Zayn’s lap and promptly threw up in the sand. Zayn scooted back as the boy wretched up the contents of his stomach, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth when he was done.

“What the fuck? Where’s my shirt? And were you touching my nipples?” Louis accused, crossing his arms self-consciously over his bare chest.

“Guess I should have just let the blood dry your shirt to your chest then. Could ‘ave pulled it off later like a plaster. Cheaper than waxing, I suppose.”

“Blood?” Louis’ voice shook as he brought his hand up to his head, wincing when it made contact with the nasty gash over his left brow.

“You busted your head pretty badly. Think you might be concussed.” Louis ran his hand over the neat line of stitches at his hairline. “Don’t worry you’re still pretty,” Zayn grinned. Louis scowled at him.

“Did you give me _stitches_?”

“My mum’s a seamstress. She always has me carry a spare sewing kit for emergencies. I used the blue thread. I think it’s your color,” Zayn winked.

“Thanks,” Louis grumbled. He was swaying slightly, even sitting down, and looked a touch too pale. Zayn nearly reached out to steady him, but saw Louis’ closed off body language and stopped himself at the last second.

“You’re welcome. I tried to clean you up too, but there’s some blood still gunked in your hair. Might want to go take a dip in the sea.”

“I’m not entirely sure I could stand up right now,” Louis admitted, looking put out.

“I could help?” Zayn offered, biting his lip. “I mean, you might feel a bit better after.”

“This doesn’t mean we’re mates.”

Zayn broke into a cackle. “Whatever you say Louis Twatlinson.”

Louis punched Zayn’s arm, but there was no real anger behind it. Louis’ eyes were suddenly drawn to something behind Zayn. “Oi, is that the plane?”

“What’s left of it,” Zayn shrugged. He was acting casual now but he’d been about a second from shitting his pants when everything went down. He was a nervous flyer as it was. The only reason he hadn’t been completely paralysed was because Louis was lying in the aisle in a pool of his own blood, clearly in more need than Zayn was.

“Is everyone –?” Louis asked, anxiously chewing his lip. Zayn nearly forgot he was mates with the pilot and copilot.

He nodded. “Yeah, everyone survived. The pilot, Liam and uh –”

“Niall,” Louis filled in.

“Yeh, that’s it. Liam and Niall went off to find a high point on the island to light a signal flare. Everyone else is trying to sort out a shelter.”

“Why didn’t you go with them?” Louis asked curiously, as Zayn helped him to feet. Louis leaned most of his body-weight into Zayn as they hobbled unsteadily toward the ocean, the heat from his skin radiating through Zayn’s thin shirt like a furnace.

“And miss the opportunity to play nursemaid to you?” Zayn teased. “I mean, it works out in my favor because I’ve been dying to get your shirt off since I saw you –”

“Cool. And I only had to nearly die for you to accomplish your goals,” Louis rolled his eyes.

“Sorry,” Zayn winced. “Was that insensitive? Just trying to lighten the atmosphere. You know, before it devolves into a total Lord of the Flies situation.”

Louis cocked his head curiously at Zayn. “Didn’t take you for a literary type.”

“Why, because I’m a dumb showbiz type?”

“No,” Louis shrugged. “Just like…usually someone is really good looking and really talented _or_ really smart – Doesn’t seem fair to have a monopoly on everything.”

“I’m flattered,” Zayn laughed.

“Don’t be. You’re still an arse and the number one person I would not like to be stuck on a desert island with.”

“Good to know,” Zayn smirked as they reached the waterline. “Why don’t we take off our clothes so they don’t get wet?”

Louis groaned. “If singing doesn’t work out for you, you could always try your hand writing porno scripts.”

Zayn barked a laugh, unable to stop himself and preened when he saw how secretly pleased it made Louis. Louis had been trying hard to make him laugh all day and Zayn had been trying hard to pretend he didn’t find the boy interesting. One thing he’d learned early on being in the spotlight was to never show an opponent your hand.

Zayn stripped down to his underwear and helped Louis shuck his trousers, studiously avoiding looking at his half-clothed body. “Listen, I’m sorry about before,” Zayn said sincerely as he helped Louis into the water.

“About saying I had no bollocks or about feeling for yourself?”

“Both. Shit. I swear – I’m not usually like this – you just bring out something in me – Anyway, it wasn’t cool. Technically, it was assault. And that’s not – my mum taught me better than that…so I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Louis shrugged. “Maybe next time buy me dinner first?”

Zayn laughed.

“Thanks for the uh – the head – and for making sure I was all right,” Louis blushed.

“No problem.”

Louis dunked his head back when they were waist deep, washing the flaking blood from his scalp and golden hair. Zayn held onto his waist as he rinsed off and they made their way back to the beach in silence. Louis had tiny goose bumps all over his tanned skin and if Zayn had thought he’d looked attractive dry, it was nothing compared to how he looked wet. It was with great effort that he kept his eyes on the tree line and avoided looking at Louis’ bum and the way his wet pants were no doubt clinging to it. _Well, maybe he looked once or twice. He was only human._

Zayn couldn’t say what it was, but he felt like something had changed between them out in the water. It felt like an unrelenting summer heat wave had broken, like sweet, cool rain after weeks of draught. It felt like oddly like… _relief_.

When they made it back to their spot in the sand, Shahid and the others were returning with driftwood for a fire and for some reason, at the sight of them, Zayn was filled with… _disappointment?_

Louis seemed to echo the sentiment with a full-bodied sigh.

 

* * *

 

They ate a surprisingly nutritious dinner with the food they managed to forage from the plane wreckage. They hadn’t sorted much of a shelter by nighttime, so each of them slunk off to claim their own section of slightly damp sand as the evening got on. Soon, Zayn and Louis found themselves alone. The temperature dropped significantly as the stars came out and Louis shivered next to the dying remains of the bonfire, looking an awful lot like the scrawny sixteen-year-old who’d auditioned for Xfactor. Zayn found a sweatshirt in the duffel bag he’d salvaged and handed it over to the boy.

Louis pulled it over his head gratefully, his fluffy hair sticking up at odd angles.

Zayn felt so endeared by how soft and sleepy and _tiny_ Louis looked in his clothes that he wondered if he hadn’t hit his own head in the crash.

“Thanks,” Louis yawned into his hand, lying down on his side to get more comfortable.

They laid there for a while, letting the silence ferment between them, into something thick and heavy. Zayn knew he should be more scared that they were stuck on a desert island, but oddly enough, his primary concern right then was for Louis. He knew, given his and Naughty Boy’s status in the entertainment industry, that a rescue mission was inevitable so really, it was only a matter of time...

At dinner, Liam had said he suspected they’d landed on Sir Abu Nu'ayr, a teardrop shaped island roughly 65 kilometers off the coast of UAE. It was a predominantly uninhabited, environmentally protected area, home to many diverse species of marine life. According to Liam, there was also a military presence and special police force on the island, which kept a lookout for poachers and other unwanted guests. Liam had suggested setting out in search of them in the morning. That is, if they didn’t find them first.

Zayn let his mind wander to his family – his mum and dad and three sisters. He didn’t indulge in missing them much or he was afraid he’d never stop. He hadn’t seen them in about four months now – he’d been on tour non-stop since March of the previous year. He loved what he did, but sometimes he caught sight of himself in the mirror – saw the fine lines on his forehead, the threads of grey at his temples – and wondered how much longer he could go at this ruthless, unrelenting pace. He’d barely had time to breath in the last ten years. He was getting up there in years – he’d just turned thirty-two – and he was starting to think of other things – a family, a nice house with a garden somewhere in the country, a couple of little ones running underfoot.

He wondered how long it would be until his family heard about the crash. His family were probably the only people left who genuinely cared about him. Fame had long ago rooted out his true friends and frankly, there weren’t many left. He made it a habit not to befriend fans and kept a strictly professional relationship with his team of hairdressers and PR people and sound techs. And if he were honest, he hadn’t had anything more than a one-night stand in years. It was depressing.

When Zayn glanced over, Louis was shaking hard, his lips tinged slightly blue.

“You’re shivering,” Zayn said. He cautiously held out his arms. “Com’mere. Let me warm you up.”

“I still hate you,” Louis said through chattering teeth, but crawled into Zayn’s arms nonetheless so that Zayn’s chest was lined up with his back. Zayn gently rubbed over Louis’ stomach and chest until he’d stopped trembling and seemed on the verge of falling sleep.

“Louis?”

It was a second before the boy responded in a tired, syrupy voice. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think you should go to sleep,” Zayn warned. “I mean, I’m not a doctor, but they always say after a concussion you need to stay awake.”

“Happen to you often?” He couldn’t see Louis’ face, but could hear the smirk in his voice.

“No…I mean…well, TV doctors,” Zayn admitted sheepishly.

“Well, what do you propose I do all night then, Mcsteamy?”

“I’m sure you can think of something,” Zayn said in a low voice, thick with innuendo.

Louis rolled out of Zayn’s arms and swung a leg over his waist, straddling his hips. He pushed Zayn’s wrists down in the sand and put his face about two inches from Zayn’s own. His blue eyes were ablaze. “Let me get one thing straight. I’m not fucking you.”

“Okay,” Zayn said carefully.

Louis ground his hips down so Zayn could feel the obvious line of his arousal. “I’m not fucking you or letting you fuck me because I don’t have lube or condoms and God knows what kind of diseases you have.”

“Okay,” Zayn repeated more slowly as Louis continued a slow grind against his thigh.

“We’re not fucking, but you _can_ suck my dick.”

“Oh, _can_ I?” Zayn raised an eyebrow. “How _generous_ of you.”

“Hey.  I have it on good authority that I have a great cock,” Louis huffed. “Loads of guys are gagging for it.”

“Well, let’s see it then,” Zayn smirked, steadying his trembling hands on Louis’ hips. Louis was so tiny, but so sinfully curvy too. So masculine – with his hard jawline and stubbled chin, but so feminine at the same time – with his big blue eyes and long lashes, his tiny nose, his small waist, flaring out to a bubble butt. Touching him felt oddly like vandalism – like leaving greasy fingerprints all over the Mona Lisa. Which only made Zayn want to do it more – for the thrill of it.

Zayn could spend hours worshipping his body. Though, he wouldn’t of course, let Louis know that. Except maybe with his tongue.

 

* * *

 

By the time Louis had struggled out of his trousers, the front flap of his pants was already embarrassingly damp with precum from the tiny circles Zayn kept rubbing over his cockhead with his thumb. Zayn slid Louis’ pants down his hips excruciatingly slowly.

“Oi, we’ll be rescued before your lips are on it at this rate,” Louis panted, but his arms were trembling with the effort of holding himself upright, unstitched at the sight of Zayn Malik crouched between his parted thighs.

Zayn bit Louis inner thigh in retaliation and Louis gave an undignified squeak that he’d deny to the grave. Finally, his pants were peeled back enough for Louis’ erection to spring back against his belly. His cock was fat and pink, precum pearling at it’s swollen tip. Zayn’s tongue darted out to wet his lips as he sized Louis up.

“You’re beautiful,” Zayn said reverently, thumbing over Louis’ hip indents. Louis’ thighs gave an involuntary twitch, his erection bobbing in the air.

Louis loved the startling contrast of their skin – Zayn’s café au lait hands curled around his golden hips. He loved how hooded Zayn’s eyes got when he was turned on – like he could barely stand to keep them open. He loved how even though Zayn’s jeans were tented, he hadn’t even reached down to adjust himself he was so single-mindedly focused on Louis.

Zayn flipped Louis onto his back in the sand and slowly sucked and bit his way along Louis’ inner thighs, pausing occasionally to marvel at the bruises his mouth left behind, like a painter admiring his stroke on the canvas. Louis reached for his cock, heavy and aching against his belly, but Zayn swatted his hand away. “Patience, kitten.”

Louis let out a high, impatient whine, but dug his fingers into the sand and kept them off himself as Zayn wanted. Zayn licked the soft seam of skin between Louis inner thigh and pubic mound, then gently grazed his teeth over Louis’ perineum, tongue swiping up to lave over his balls. Zayn’s mouth was everywhere – _anywhere_ – but where Louis wanted it. His cock was now more red than pink and his lower belly was wet and shiny with precum. Louis shivered when Zayn spread his cheeks and exhaled hotly against his hole.

“Mind if I have a taste?” Zayn asked. Louis nodded so hard he felt dizzy, momentarily forgetting his head injury. “On your tummy, babe,” Zayn instructed and Louis flopped over willingly, raising his arse up like a cat in heat. Zayn bit each of his checks playfully before spreading Louis apart with his thumbs. He wasted no time licking over Louis’ hole, blowing on it after, the contrast between his hot saliva and cool air leaving Louis squirming.

Zayn got Louis nice and wet before pushing his tongue in and then, a finger alongside it. He reached under Louis with his free hand and gave Louis’ cock a rough stroke that nearly had Louis popping off right then.  If only he could be so lucky.  Zayn kept Louis maddeningly on edge – he seemed to know exactly when Louis was close, switching to feather light touches that weren’t enough pressure to get him off. Louis’ eyes were filled with tears and he alternated between pumping his hips against the air in desperation and rocking his bum back against Zayn’s mouth.

Once, when Zayn didn’t ease off, Louis thought maybe he’d finally decided to let Louis cum, but then at the last second, Zayn pulled down hard on Louis’ balls, sending a sharp ache up into Louis’ stomach and abruptly halting his orgasm in its tracks.  Louis' head swam and his body was one throbbing, persistent ache.  And yet, he'd never been so turned on his life.

Louis’ whole body was glistening with sweat in the moonlight and his erection was near purple from prolonged arousal, heavy and painful between his legs. But he didn’t – _wouldn’t_ – beg. Instead, he let Zayn keep him maddeningly on the precipice – taunting him - keeping him balanced on the thin tightrope between pain and pleasure.

And then Zayn’s hand – wet with spit and Louis’ precum, started a relentless campaign on Louis’ sensitive knob – skinning back his foreskin and polishing the nerve-sensitive ridge of his cock-head.

“Zayn, I-”

“Gonna cum for me, kitten?”

“Yes – please – I –” Louis was having difficulty stringing a sentence together, his head in a complete fog.

“Mmm,” Zayn kissed the sweaty crook of Louis’ neck, licked a trail through the salt. “Let it go baby,” he prompted, giving Louis’ prostate a vicious jab with his fingers at the same moment he increased the pressure of his grip on Louis’ dick.

Louis felt his orgasm rising up from the nerve endings in his spine, lighting up every pleasure receptor in his body like a Christmas tree. He convulsed, his cock forcefully ejecting its load into the sand. He would have collapsed if it weren’t for Zayn’s bracing arm around his torso, holding him upright on all fours.

Zayn didn’t slow his pumping of Louis’ erection. “Fuck – too – sensitive –” Louis whined, trying to bat away Zayn’s hand.

“C’mon baby, you can give daddy one more,” Zayn said in a husky voice that made Louis’ tremble, stroking him through the pain. Louis shivered at the oversensitivity, but his erection didn’t flag.

Zayn flipped Louis over onto his back and without any preamble, took Louis into his mouth. The hot wet suction on Louis’ already over-sensitive cock was like being scalded. But somewhere, beneath the pain, Louis couldn’t deny that it felt good, that his whole body felt awake and turned on, sparking like a live wire. Zayn thumbed over Louis’ small nipples as he sucked him, until they were red and raw and Louis was actively trying to squirm away from his touch.

So soon on the heels of his first orgasm, Louis’ second felt like it was being torn out of him - like a hook had snagged behind his belly-button and been yanked. He saw white.  His thighs were trembling uncontrollably for several minutes after. Zayn crawled up Louis’ quaking body to push his own fluids into his mouth through a searing, open-mouthed kiss.

Louis eyelids were heavy then and he fought to keep them open. “Come on, gotta stay awake,” Zayn said, lightly slapping Louis’ cheek. Louis felt like he was being dragged under by the tide – his body heavy and sated, his mind a giant yawning blank. Usually he felt energized and restless after an orgasm, but now he just felt like he was slipping under.

Zayn pulled his wallet from his back pocket, a condom and a small tube of lube tumbling out into his hand.

“I know you said you didn’t want to fuck, but –”

“I’m so tired,” Louis simpered, head rolling to the side. He felt like a cranky baby. He couldn’t remember being so tired in all his life.

“Please baby,” Zayn pleaded, putting Louis’ hand over the crotch of his own jeans. He was still hard, probably painfully so by this point. “I’m so hard for you. Want you so much. Want to be inside you.”

Louis’ dick gave a painful twitch of interest. The thought of Zayn’s dick in him, filling him up, was an oddly pleasing one, despite his exhaustion. “Yeah. Yes, please,” he babbled.

He had no idea what was happening to him – usually _he_ was the aggressor during sex, the dominant one – but Zayn was flopping him about like a rag doll and Louis was just – _letting_ him. And not just _letting_ – _wanting_ him to. Louis craved it – the loss of control, the blurring of his senses, that feeling of weightlessness, of being untethered from his body. It was like a drug.

Zayn took his time opening Louis with lube. Louis was still raw from the rasp of Zayn’s stubble when he’d eaten him out, but he was starting to enjoy the tenderness, like pushing your finger into a bruise. Zayn shimmied out of his jeans. The front of his pants were soaked straight through. “Did you -?” Louis asked curiously.

“Just precum,” Zayn said and Louis admired his self-control. He’d been giving Louis pleasure for what felt like hours, all while steadily leaking in his own pants. The thought sent a twist of arousal through Louis’ abdomen. Louis helped Zayn out of his pants, revealing his long, cut dick. It was gorgeous, like the rest of him, and the sight of it made Louis feel a little needy, a little strung out on desire.

Louis wanked Zayn with an embarrassingly uncoordinated stroke. He was usually so good in bed, but his entire body felt like a limp, wet dishrag. It was an effort to get his muscles to follow his brain’s commands. Zayn seemed to enjoy it nonetheless. Unlike Louis’ high-pitched, reedy moans, Zayn released a steady stream of low grunts as he rutted into Louis’ fist. He had remarkable control and watching the careful movements of his hips, Louis got the sense he was holding back. That if he really wanted, he could _destroy_ Louis.

When Zayn finally slid on the condom and rested his blunt tip against Louis’ entrance, but didn’t push in, Louis cried out in frustration. His entire body was electrified, everything one giant, pulsing map of desire.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” Zayn crooned, stroking Louis’ face tenderly. Zayn’s eyes were like gold fire. Louis wanted it to consume him.

“Please, I – you – inside me,” Louis blathered incoherently. There were tears rolling down his face, joining the cooling sweat pooling in his collarbones, but Louis barely noticed them. His whole body was like a compass needle, all straining towards Zayn.

 _Touch me touch me touch me_ , his entire body pulsed in morse code.

Zayn slid his fingers into Louis’ mouth and Louis’ sucked greedily on them. “Mmm…you look so lovely, honey,” Zayn said, pushing himself into Louis excruciatingly slow.  Louis moaned around Zayn's fingers.

“My good boy,” Zayn cooed, pulling his fingers from Louis’ mouth, only to replace them with his tongue. His tongue swirled around Louis’ mouth like he was trying to lick a secret out of him and Louis felt himself go lax, willingly entrusting his body to Zayn. While Louis was distracted, Zayn pushed into him in one quick, brutal push. Louis gasped into Zayn’s mouth – his head filling with bright, searing white like someone had turned on every light in the house at once.

For a moment, Zayn stilled, bottomed-out in Louis, pulling back from their kiss to stroke Louis’ face. He pressed kisses onto Louis’ cheekbones and brows, upon his closed eyelids. “Okay, sweetheart?”

Louis nodded, throat closing up with emotion. Above him, Zayn’s dark hair was falling into his eyes and his body was alight with moonlight. He looked magic. He looked electric. He looked like nothing Louis had ever seen.

“Please,” Louis said, raggedly, even that one word an effort for him, like opening up a wound. He felt gutted, exposed beneath Zayn’s gaze. He’d had sex a lot of times, but he’d never given himself over this way. It was terrifying and exhilarating. Zayn began moving his hips in a slow, shallow circle, well away from Louis’ prostrate. It was frustratingly not-enough – there and not there.

Louis sank his fingernails into Zayn’s biceps, clinging to him like a lifeline. A keening sound spilled from his lips as he snapped his hips up in an effort to get more pressure.

“Use your words love,” Zayn scolded.

“Please. More. Harder,” Louis grunted, tears of frustration seeping from his eyes. He couldn’t articulate exactly what he wanted, his brain was scrambled and his tongue was heavy and clumsy in his mouth. Zayn plunged in deeper, pulling almost out entirely before sinking in again. He began a relentless pace against Louis’ prostrate and Louis didn’t even realize he was close to cumming until his one vicious stab caused his whole body to seize up and his cock splattered wetly across his stomach. Zayn grunted at the sight, speeding up his pace. His hand circled Louis softening cock and he pumped some life back into it.

“Come on. Want you to come with me, baby.”

“Can’t,” Louis sobbed, wrung out from his first three orgasms. He just wanted to sleep. His whole body felt sore and used. But another part of him, one he wasn’t quite ready to examine, really, _really_ wanted to please Zayn.

“Please love. Want to feel you tightening up on my cock. Want to see you come undone.”

Louis wanted to say he was _already_ undone, but one look into Zayn’s burning gaze and he was done for. He pumped his cock up into Zayn’s fist, wincing at the tight soreness of his skin.

“Tell me when you’re close, kitten,” Zayn said, scooping Louis up in his arms to nuzzle his neck. Louis was seated in Zayn’s lap now, rocking up and down on his dick, barely a molecule of air between their pressed chests.

The sex had quickly turned from something animalistic to something sensual and intimate. Louis could feel the slide of sweat on their skin, smell the musk of Zayn’s cologne, feel the throb of the bruises Zayn had left behind. He could hear every panting sound that fell from Zayn’s lips and from his own, every slick sex sound their bodies made, the pound of their hearts pulsing in time with the waves. Louis had moved passed the sensitivity and into a yearning deeper than anything he’d ever felt. He felt like he was flying and at the same time, inexplicably, like crying. He’d never felt connected this way to someone before, never realized it was even possible.

“I’m close,” he whispered against Zayn’s ear, like it was a secret.  Zayn tightened his arms around Louis, pumping his cock up into him.

“Let go, sweetheart. Let it go,” Zayn coaxed. Louis came with a cry, just a few pathetic watery dribbles between their pressed bellies, right before Zayn tensed, releasing into the condom with a low groan.

When Zayn pulled out and tied off the condom, Louis felt empty, more empty than he’d ever felt. Like he’d been hollowed out. Before he knew it, he was sobbing.

Zayn held him tightly as he came down. Louis gasped, trying to draw breath into his lungs. Zayn rubbed his back and hair, placed small kisses on his face. “It’s all right. You’re fine. I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m – I’m being like this.”

“Hey, hey. Never apologize for what you’re feeling. Talk to me.  Tell me what you're feeling.”

“I’m…I’m feeling overwhelmed. And a little scared. And sad. I didn’t – I didn’t know it could be like that. Sex, I mean.”

“Haven’t you ever subbed before?” Zayn prodded gently. 

“No, I’m usually…in charge.”

Zayn stroked his hand up and down Louis’ arm. “It can be a little scary the first time. Did you enjoy it?”

“I came four times,” Louis squawked, embarrassed, burying his face into Zayn’s chest. “I haven’t done that since I first learned to wank.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

Louis nodded, though he could barely move and the tiredness was seeping in, more urgent than before.

 

* * *

 

They stayed up all night and Zayn never let go of Louis in all that time, even humiliatingly, when Louis went for a wee. He said it was part of good after-care for a dom and sub and though Louis didn’t want to admit it, he needed it. He was scared Zayn would leave him alone, scared that Zayn would let go, but he never did.

They went for a swim in the ocean, Zayn’s arm around Louis’ waist. They kissed until their lips were numb. They went for a walk, holding hands. They ate a light meal. They climbed the rocks and watched the sunrise, Louis seated in Zayn’s lap. In the wan light of early morning, Zayn stoked a fire and Louis rested with his head in Zayn’s lap. The others were stirring – waking from a cold, hard night on the beach cranky and irritated – Naughty Boy perhaps the crankiest of all.  Zayn could already hear him grousing about sand in unmentionable places.

“Can I ask you something?” Louis asked.

Zayn nodded, picking up a hollow stick to draw lines in the sand. He’d been an art student before the music thing took off and there was something so soothing about creating to him, even if it was only temporary. “Shoot.”

“Why were you such a dick to me on X-Factor? I had the biggest crush on you. I mean, when I was eleven, you were the person who made me realize I liked boys. I idolized you. And then I came on the show and you took every opportunity to rip me apart. You crushed me.”

Zayn paused a moment, trying to think of the best way to explain it. He’d never realized just how disheartened Louis had been by the experience. I mean, he’d left in the middle of the final – but Zayn had always chalked that up to nerves and cowardice – to Louis not ultimately having what it took to be in the limelight. A lot of people were talented, but dealing with the public was a whole other thing. It wasn’t a life everyone was cut out for.

“I guess I thought…I recognized something in you? Like…that you were a reflection of me in some way?” Zayn dug his stick in further. “You were so cheeky and feisty. When I was a kid, whenever someone told me I couldn’t do something, it made me want it all the more. If someone told me not to touch something, I wanted to touch it. If someone told me I couldn’t go platinum I did whatever it took to go platinum. I guess…I thought in an odd way that it would motivate you? Because you were good, but a lot of people are good. I knew you could be great and you just needed someone to push you.”

Louis sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. His skin felt tight from the saltwater. “You weren’t wrong – at any other time in my life – I would have been so mad I would’ve doubled my efforts to prove you wrong.”

“And at that time in your life?”

“I just needed someone to tell me I was doing the right thing. That I was where I was supposed to be,” Louis burrowed further into Zayn’s borrowed sweatshirt, looking tiny and lost.

“Can I ask _you_ something?”

“Only fair,” Louis shrugged.

“Why did you leave? Was it…was it because of me?” Zayn’s chest felt tight and his skin felt itchy. He’d learned early on not to care what people thought of him – the easiest way to be sad and mad all the time was to read anonymous comments about yourself on the Internet – but he _cared_ what Louis thought. He didn’t know why, but he did. Maybe because Louis was the only person he’d encountered in recent years that said exactly what he thought, that wasn’t just working an angle to benefit himself. Maybe because the night before Louis had looked out-of-this-world beautiful, incandescent in the glow of the moon and for a second Zayn had felt something like love for him.

Louis shook his head. “I mean, you didn’t make anything easier, but – no…I left,” Louis took a deep breath. All of the papers had been hounding him for an exclusive after he left Xfactor when all he wanted to do was spend time with his family. Simon Cowell had helped pay them off for their silence when they found out the real reason and Louis had never been as grateful for someone’s protection, even if he wasn’t sure why he was getting it. He’d rather see the papers call him ungrateful or a coward or “the boy who blocked his own shot” than have his personal life, his grief, dragged through the papers as entertainment fodder. “I left because my mum died.”

Zayn’s eyes widened and then softened. “Oh, kitten,” he said softly, stroking a hand over Louis’ arm.

“She was sick for a while. Doing chemo on and off since I was twelve. Went into remission for a while and then the cancer came back again when I was fifteen. Insurance wouldn’t cover all of it so we were drowning in bills. We were fighting to hang on to the house and I have five baby sisters, all in school. My stepdad was working three jobs and ferrying my mum to chemo and there was shit all I could do. I felt so…so _helpless_ …

And – I dunno – I had this stupid idea that I could fix things. That if I won, I could save her. That I could pay all our bills and everything would be okay.” Louis swiped at his glassy eyes with the balled up sleeves of Zayn’s hoodie. “I know how stupid that sounds, but back then—” he choked off a small sob. His chest rose and fell in tiny, stuttering increments and Zayn had never seen anyone as beautiful or as fragile.

The sunlight reflected in Louis’ big blue eyes as two fat tears rolled down his cheeks and pooled in his ears. “I knew it was bad when I left, but she told me to go. She said she didn’t want to deprive the world of hearing a voice like mine.” Louis scoffed. “And when I heard – right before the finals – I was so angry. So angry I spent the last few weeks of her life on some stupid TV show. And all for nothing…” he sniffed.

“Hey, you didn’t know,” Zayn said, sneaking his hand into the pocket of the hoodie Louis was wearing to rub his tummy. Louis shook his head, throat so closed up with tears he couldn’t speak. “And for what it’s worth – you had a beautiful voice. And I’m happy I got to hear it,” Zayn added softly.

Louis raised an eyebrow disbelievingly. “It’s true. I thought you were brilliant. And if you’d been a few years older – oi, you were such a twink.” Louis gave a tiny, watery smile. “I’m sorry I pushed you. I misread the situation. I thought a push was what you needed.”

“It’s okay.” Louis draped a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun. He suddenly seemed very bashful. “What’s going to happen once we’re rescued? Once we’re back in the real world? I’m not naïve. I know – I know you don’t owe me anything…”

“Louis, don’t be daft. I don’t have sex like that with just anyone. We had a real connection. And I’d like to…I’d like to see more of you if that’s what you want too?”

“I’m not looking for a sugar daddy, okay?”

“Okay,” Zayn nodded.

“And I don’t want to be your kept boy.”

“Okay.”

Louis bit his lip, lowering his voice. “But in bed…I liked how you made me feel, the um, the pet names you called me and the way you took care of me after. So in bed, maybe it’s okay.”

“Okay,” Zayn agreed, grinning.

Louis yawned into his sleeve. It was balled over his fist in a sweater paw.  Zayn wanted to kiss him silly.  “It’s probably all right to sleep now –” Zayn started to say, but Louis was already snoring softly, a contended smile on his lips.

Zayn’s heart felt so full with something he couldn’t yet name.

 

* * *

 

“Good news Mr. Tomlinson. You’re free to go,” the nurse said, unclipping Louis’ chart from the door. They’d been rescued after just thirty-six hours on the island and immediately rushed to the hospital for observation. Louis had been treated for dehydration and a concussion and the others for dehydration and assorted bruises and contusions. All in all, they’d been really lucky.

The past few days had been a blur – the rescue chopper and slipping and in and out of sleep and various MRIs and scans, Louis’ stepdad and five sisters all crammed into his tiny hospital suite.  He realized belatedly the last time they'd all been at hospital, their mum had been dying.  It was a sobering thought.

Louis and Zayn stayed up late into the night talking in whispers about all sorts of things.  It turned out they both had a love for comic books and superheroes and Scooby Doo.  It turned out they had more in common than either of them had originally thought.  It turned out they really fancied each other.

And amidst all that, there were about a million reporters camped outside the hospital, eager for the first picture of Zayn post accident. When the public heard his plane had crashed, they’d feared the worst. Louis had spent a couple of minutes on his Ipad looking at Twitter and Tumblr posts, with girls distraught over Zayn’s supposed death. It made him queasy. Part of him was just happy to be back to normal life and another part realized just how much his life was about to change.

On the island, they’d held the tenuous, fragile beginning of their relationship between them and it had felt precious and intimate and theirs alone, but it was about to become everyone’s business. Zayn had already set up a meeting with his bosses next week to go over how to introduce Louis to the public. They'd been really receptive to it after all the great press the accident had generated - though they didn't say it in those words.  Everybody loved a scandal.

“Have you got someone to take you home?” the nurse asked Louis.

“Oh, my um –”

“…boyfriend,” Zayn finished for him, strolling into the room. He looked handsome – all cleaned up and shaved and back in stylish clothes – but some part of Louis would always prefer him the way he’d been on the island – unshowered, stubbled and a bit rumpled.

There were so many competing Zayns in Louis’ mind now – the one he’d wanked over when he was a hormonal twelve year old, the one who’d been a complete dick to him on Xfactor, the one who’d saved his life on the island, and perhaps the best one of all, the one giving him a soft, secret smile right now.

While Louis was recovering, Zayn had talked about wanting to take some time off after this tour, maybe stay at his country home with Louis for the summer.  It was crazy – Louis was so young and they both barely knew each other – but Louis was already thinking of a future together.  A wedding and kids somewhere down the line. He just – he felt _safe_ with Zayn. The only problem was –

“Oh God,” he blurted out. “Is Naughty Boy going to be our best man?”

Zayn burst out laughing and kissed the horrified expression off of Louis’ face.  Louis thought, if it meant having Zayn in his life, he could deal with a little Naughty Boy now and then.


End file.
